Let Me Write You A Love Song
by haplesshippo
Summary: Snapshots of falling in love, of falling out of love, of passionate love, of love between family and love between friends. About those who have loved but shouldn't have, and those who cannot.


Summary: Snapshots of falling in love, of falling out of love, of passionate love, of love between family and love between friends. About those who have loved but shouldn't have, and those who cannot love.

A/N: Guys, I listened to too many love songs on Pandora, and suddenly I really wanted to write a Valentine's day fic.

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When Harry falls in love with Ginny, it is in the middle of war, in the middle of a big great mission to defeat one of the greatest and darkest wizards of all time, and he doesn't want to die without knowing what it feels like to love. When he kisses her, he feels something click into place, and he realizes that this is what it feels live to fall in love: overwhelming, like dropping off a cliff, with his heart in his throat, and the only thing he can feel is her warmth and her passion. When he breaks up with her to travel across the country in search of Horcruxes, he does it with a lump in his chest, and he still loves her so, so much, but he can't put her in danger, he can't bear to. When he leaves, he feels like he's leaving a little bit of something behind, and he only feels whole again when he sees her again, dusty and bloody and fierce and beautiful after the battle at Hogwarts.

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Remus never expects to find requited love. He's a werewolf, and there's a great mountain in front of all werewolves, a wall made from people's stigma and prejudice. People say he's dangerous, feral, ruthless, savage, and he'll probably only find understanding friends in the Order. Then he meets Nymphadora, a lively younger woman who has the luxury of changing her appearance to whatever she wants, and he envies her. She can be whomever she wants, be _with_ whomever she wants, and although he loves her clumsiness and dedication and bravery and earnest nature, he knows she will never love a decrepit old werewolf like him. And then she does, and he's so grateful to have her, to love her and care for her and fight with her. Their baby boy is every more beautiful and wonderful, and Remus is dumbfounded that he's found himself a family at all, let alone one so wonderful. When he and his wife fall together, well, it's not the worst way to die, fighting for a cause he believes in and beside the woman he loves.

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Cho first meets Cedric when she accidentally runs into him while in a hurry to get to her next class. She has books clutched to her chest and a bag thumping against her side, and she's not looking at anyone at all because she's busy going over her lessons. Then, next thing she knows, her bag is spilling parchment and quills on the floor, and her books have skidded into a wall in her surprise. When she looks up with an apology on her lips, she's stunned at the apologetic, warm brown eyes and quick, sheepish smile on a handsome face.

The boy apologizes profusely, and Cho stutters an apology in return, and when they manage to gather his books, since those have managed to fall out of his bag as well, and stuffed all of her notes back, they're both grinning and laughing at the silliness of it all. He then offers to walk her to her next class, and she spends all of Transfiguration daydreaming and smiling foolishly, not realizing that she's got a gigantic crush on him. When she realizes it's not her name scrawled on the inside of her Potions textbook but rather Cedric's, she can't wait to return the book to him. It means she'll get to see him again.

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Bellatrix first felt all-consuming, maniacal love for her Master when he was quick and brilliant, with a dangerous smile and enticing words, her Dark Lord, and she's loved him ever since she found that cruel determination in him. She loves his sharp edges and wicked spells, his ruthlessness and disregard for life. It's exciting, living on the precipice of danger, and she is devoted to him. She marries Rodolphus because he seems to hold affection for her, and she knows that her Lord is so magnificent that he would never deign to marry anyone. She ties her life to her fellow Death Eater because her Master orders it, and she complies with his will, just as she follows his every whim. When she bears her Master's child, she is ecstatic, because her Lord gave her a piece of himself, and now she has a part of her Master nobody else has, or will ever have. She doesn't care for Rodolphus's hurt and betrayal, only for approval from her dearest Dark Lord. She loves, and she's mad, and she doesn't care either way.

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Bill doesn't think he has a snowball's chance in hell with the beautiful French woman, Fleur. She's stunning, and she's beautiful, and she's brave and cunning and so very dazzling, and he can't stop the hard thump of his heart when he sees her or help the way his brain blanks when she speaks to him. He's fallen, and he's fallen hard. Fleur either doesn't notice or ignores the way he acts around her, and he doesn't know whether to be grateful or hurt.

Then, one day, she's finally fed up and suggests very strongly that he should take her on a date to that nice Italian restaurant and show her around Diagon Alley, and then he feels like he's flying sky high, on the back of a dragon. But disaster strikes, and he is scarred, and he didn't think he was handsome enough for her in the first place, but now he has scars and likes rare steak and sometimes is moody and she will never love him and-

-and then Fleur declares, loudly, that she's beautiful enough for the two of them, and she still loves him, and Bill is so, so thankful that such a strong woman loves him.

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It's always been GeorgeandFred, or FredandGeorge. They were born together, raised together, realized they loved playing pranks together, and learned the same lessons together. They shared beds until they were too big, and then they shared food and jokes and friends and secrets. They never left each other for long, and could never stay mad at each other either.

And then Fred died, and George can't look in mirrors anymore, can't bear the sight of red hair and freckles and not see another identical face grinning back at him. Sometimes he forgets that his other half is gone, and he'll start a sentence, only for the second half to be left unsaid. He sleeps with the pillow they both used when they were little clutched to his chest, and he can't bear to even look at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and leaves the shop to a manager. His hands always fiddle and pull on the chain that is attached to Fred's hand on the Weasley clock, found by their father on the floor when it falls off the blasted thing sometime after the battle of Hogwarts. He can't play pranks, and he can't laugh, and he feels like there's a piece of him missing, gone, a limb that used to be there but now he can't move it. His heart is in shattered little pieces.

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Draco's never really had a preference for who he marries. As a pureblood, he's expected to marry into a pureblood family, to raise an heir he can be proud to call a Malfoy and carry the Malfoy legacy. These pressures have not lessened since the war. He must now redeem the Malfoy name, woo a suitable woman who can uphold the responsibilities of a Malfoy wife, and ensure that the name is not dragged through the dirt.

In the end, he marries Astoria Greengrass, a beautiful, elegant woman two years younger than he. Maybe he marries her because she's a pureblood, dignified and raised in the correct environment. Maybe he marries her because at least his parents will not look down on her. Maybe he marries her because when she smiles, her eyes sparkle, and there's a warmth that her sister, Daphne, doesn't have. Maybe he marries her because she has spirit, because she doesn't believe muggles are below wizards and she wants to shatter pureblood beliefs. Maybe he marries her because his heart races when she laughs, when she banters with him and daringly jokes in a way nobody else will.

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Albus never expected himself to fall in love with a male, even if that male is cunning and quick-witted and intelligent in a way nobody's ever been. He falls blindingly and completely for sly dark eyes and blond hair, for that sharp knowledge hiding between a big, grand dream for the magical future. He fights against it, because men aren't supposed to love men, it's disgusting and nasty and unnatural, but he can't help it anyways when Gellert spouts a bright idea, and he falls all over again.

But in the end, it isn't meant to be. He realizes how exactly how dangerous and ruthless his best friend is. Albus finds himself at opposite ends of the war with the one he loves, and when he looks down on a defeated man, the elder wand in one hand, he realizes that, for some reason, despite all the atrocities that Gellert has committed, all the men and women and children he's killed, he still loves him.

It's hard being in love with a dark wizard, but Albus finds, when he occasionally visits his old friend, he doesn't regret this bittersweet love of his.

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Ron's path towards love has never been smooth. When he tries to fall in love with Lavender, it fails particularly fantastically, and Ron doesn't think he'll ever feel as humiliated as he does when he sees Hermione escorted by Viktor bloody Krum. He then realizes that oh, he likes her. She's beautiful, with flowing brown locks that look nothing like her usual frizzy hair, and dressed in a gown that put all the other witches to shame. She's stunning, the way she smiles up at Viktor, and he grins down back at her, like he can't even believe he managed to bring her to the Yule Ball.

And then disaster hits, and among Voldemort's revival, Dumbledore's death, and then searching for the Deathly Hallows, he's much, much too busy for more than a stray thought to romance. But when he returns to Harry with an arm full of basilisk fangs, riding on his victory and adrenaline, he kisses her, and he's never tasted anything sweeter than Hermione's lips on his.

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Severus will never forget green eyes and red hair, cheerful smile and sharp wit. He looks back on their childhood days fondly, with bittersweet memories of an abused boy and an adored girl navigating their ways through Hogwarts. He'll remember late-night study sessions in the library, full of the musk of books and the soothing company of someone who has seen him at his worst as a child and still accepts him. Before he knows it, before he knows he shouldn't be falling in love with a mudblood, he's looking at her like she's hung the sun and moon and stars. But then, he finds out that in Slytherin, muggles are filthy, and mudbloods scum, and in a desperate bid for acceptance, he pushes away his only real friend, his first and last love. He reveals his true colors as an opportunistic, traitorous snake, and he turns his back to her. James marries her, and Severus is again alone, serving a cruel Dark Lord and trying his hardest to find a place to belong. In the end, as he hears of that lovely woman, once so full of life, and how she'd died at the hands of his master, he ensconces himself in lies and deceit, all to search for redemption for the life he couldn't save.

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Neville loves many things. He's never really hated much about anything, and there are only several exceptions to his good-hearted nature. Fearful, yes, of Potions and Snape and flying and dangerous creatures, but not hateful, not even towards Draco, who made his life hell during Hogwarts. He loves Herbology, loves the sight of green and brown and orange and the smell of dirt and earth. He loves his friends for their bravery and kindness. And then he falls in love with a soul like his, determined and loyal and kind. He loves Hannah like a Devil's Snare loves fire, and he grateful that after a semester of teaching students, some smart and some less so, he knows he can return to The Leaky Cauldron, where he can enjoy a hot meal, a warm hearth, and his loving wife.

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Angelina knows that George will never find that part of his missing heart again. She understands that he will forever love his brother than he will love anyone else like he loved his twin, even her. Nonetheless, she's understanding, and she drags him kicking and screaming and sobbing out of the hole of despair he's dug himself him. She takes him to Quidditch matches and screams at the players for missing the Snitch, and then she forces him on a muggle roller coaster and shrieks as they free fall. She takes him to the park, and they sit together, and she takes him on walks by the beach, with only the gentle sound of waves and smell of salt water. She pretends she doesn't see him crying in the rain, she only gently brings him inside and dries his tears and directs him into the shower.

Slowly, glacially, George recovers, and learns how to cope with the missing part of his life. He cries in his sleep huddled in her arms, but slowly nightmares become dreams, and that ache deep in his chest lessens. He learns to smile again, to crack jokes and run a prank shop, to celebrate his twin's life instead of mourn it. He owes everything to Angelina, but he never has to say thanks, because she understands, and she doesn't need any.

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Minerva falls in love with Elphinstone, with her boss, which is terrifying. Minerva has always been a straight-laced, rule-abiding woman, and to hold affections for her superior is forbidden. She cannot, will not let her personal work interfere with her career, so she tries to push those pesky feelings away. Then she gets her teaching position at Hogwarts, and Elphinstone asks her out, and she doesn't believe at first that he would have returned her feelings. They are both old, halfway through life already, but it is not the passionate love of youth but rather the contented satisfaction between those who have been comfortable with each other for a very long time. Their marriage is, sadly, childless, and Minerva keeps her maiden name, but they're happy and settled, and when Elphinstone dies, she doesn't not mourn his death for long but rather smiles and is glad that they found each other, even if it took fifty years.

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Tom has never felt love. He's never felt this magical feeling that so many write stories about and sing songs of. There's never a warmth in his chest, and his heart never beats for anyone else. He makes acquaintances easily and dispassionately, and he never considers the feelings of others when he plans and dreams of the path the wizarding world will take. There's no regret, no pain, no sympathy for families he's torn apart, of widowers and orphans he's left behind, only a determination for his cause and a devotion to his ideals. When he's a spirit without a body, there's not even room for determination and devotion, only room for rage and hatred and cruel glee. Perhaps a more generous person would say that he loved his cause and vision, but even then, it's not so much love as a relentless drive and insanity. He's never felt love, and he never will, not even on the day he dies.

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Luna knows that when she falls in love, she'll have met the perfect man who can accept her for who she is, who will smile at her dreams and the creatures only she can see and her intelligence. She doesn't worry, and she doesn't fret. She only keeps living her life, graduating from Hogwarts and then becoming a magizoologist and proving that those magical creatures that her peers always made fun of her for are real. When she sees red hair on a freckled face, equally as devoted to caring for magical creatures and never doubting, not even once, that what she believes is real, she knows that Rolf Scamander is the man whom she's been waiting for.

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Narcissa was born a Black, always pure. She is grace while Bellatrix is passion and Andromeda is determination, the most dignified and elegant and poised of her siblings. She charms and flirts with other purebloods, and she is cunning and sly when called for. When she first meets Lucius, she's delighted that she's found someone willing to match her underhanded insults and verbally spar with her. The Malfoy is perhaps not the most magically powerful, but he has sway over the big players in the government. His words and actions are just as influential as his money is, and Narcissa is so very ecstatic to find someone just like her, who fights dirty, using a serpent's poison instead of its fangs. When she births a little boy, she wants to raise him to be like her and Lucius, but soon it occurs to her that, with the rise of the Dark Lord, the Malfoys are fighting a losing battle, no matter the power of money and influence. So she lies when she finds the Potter boy still alive, she lies through her teeth with a prayer in her throat, plays the most vital underhanded trick and fights dirty, to make sure that her family is still alive to see the dawn of day.

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Molly has so much love, so much protectiveness, in her heart that it's a wonder that she can fit so much of it in her small body. She loves her husband, despite the fights they may get in, and she loves her children. She's protective and very territorial and will fight tooth and nail for her family against any potential threat. She loves their lopsided house, loves making food and doing chores. She loves the small, skinny, black haired and green eyed orphan that is friends with her youngest son, and she loves the brown haired, brave Gryffindor that Ron falls in love with. She learns how to love Fleur after Fleur proves that she is not with Bill just for his looks or his daring occupation. And when she loses one of her own, when she loses half of a set, she is lost as well, in a sea of guilt and disappointment, and she throws all her grief, her rage, and her love into defeating Bellatrix. But she still has family, and she has friends, and even with the scarring hole in her family now, she never loses even an ounce of her overwhelming love for everything in her life.

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Lily has loved many in her lifetime. She's loved the little boy, so hurt and prickly like a hedgehog, who grew up into an intelligent man gifted in potions. She's loved her sister despite her jealousy and hatred of all things magical. She's loved magic, which has given her so many gifts of knowledge and power and a home. She's loved Hogwarts, full of books and friends and wondrous things. She's loved James, a bully and a flirt, brave and kind but also occasionally cruel and determined, who hasn't given up trying to woo her. And she's loved her child, little Harry with green eyes like hers and black hair like his father's, gurgling and curious. When she faces someone who's never loved before in her final moments, a green spell flying towards her to stop her heart, she pours everything she's ever loved into her child, that profound and powerful emotional called love, hoping and praying that he will learn how to love as well when his parents are gone from this world, and her life flies away like a blown-out candle.

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A/N: I have so many of the feels. Does anyone else have the feels. Fred's death will never be okay, thEY DIDN'T DESERVE THIS NO I HAVE SO MANY FEELS FOR THEM. Shit man. Also, JKR does a really good job imo portraying love, the power Voldemort has never known, in the series. Three times a mother's love has defeated Voldemort/the dark side: Lily's, Molly's, and Narcissa's. Honestly I think it's those their love that played a more instrumental part in Voldy's downfall, not Harry's or anyone else's, which is why I wrote them last.

As always, please review. I want to know what you think about my writing, whether it be good, bad, or neutral.

 **Sincerely,**

 **haplessgrapefrut**


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